


A Prayer in Spring

by Moon_Rose (Moonrose91)



Series: The Art of Language [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Characters to be added, F/M, Gen, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pairings to be added, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonrose91/pseuds/Moon_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the coming of spring, life returns.</p><p>And so does hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stirrings of Spring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyRedFeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRedFeather/gifts).



> SURPRISE!!
> 
> I'm being a Hobbit for my birthday!
> 
> Over the course of the next week, I shall post things in regards to my birthday, including the sequel to _A Minor Bird_ , finally.
> 
> *~*~*~*
> 
> Here is the long awaited sequel to _A Minor Bird_. I apologize for the wait. Here you go!
> 
>  
> 
> _Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;_  
>  _And give us not to think so far away_  
>  _As the uncertain harvest; keep us here_  
>  _All simply in the springing of the year._
> 
> _Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,_  
>  _Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;_  
>  _And make us happy in the happy bees,_  
>  _The swarm dilating round the perfect trees._
> 
> _And make us happy in the darting bird_  
>  _That suddenly above the bees is heard,_  
>  _The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,_  
>  _And off a blossom in mid air stands still._
> 
> _For this is love and nothing else is love,_  
>  _The which it is reserved for God above_  
>  _To sanctify to what far ends He will,_  
>  _But which it only needs that we fulfil._
> 
> ~ Robert Frost

Spring came with the smell of rain and the perfume of flowers filling the air.

So close to the mountains Malin had been born and raised in, she wondered if she would ever feel as at home in Erebor as she felt in the gentle hills of the Shire, so close to what she had known. She huffed a laugh at her thoughts and focused on the sickle she was hammering into shape, content to have worked for food and board all winter long.

It was a better deal than she had ever gotten in the towns of Men Thorin had taken her to when she had gained her apprenticeship with Kili under his uncle.

To this day, she did not understand why he had taken her under his tutelage, but it was something she had aspired to do and, unlike Kili, was happy to make nails so that Thorin, and Dwalin, could focus on the bigger, and better, commissions.

She liked making things that were practical for day to day use and often lost herself to the monotony of nail making and Kili’s whining.

Irritating little beardless brat that he was.

She smiled at those thoughts as she thrust the sickle into her bucket of water, knowing she would need to set it into the wooden handle Bifur had made for it before she sharpened it and gave it to a Farmer Maggot to replace one that had been, accidentally, destroyed by his son.

She looked up at the bell ringing and nodded a bit to Bifur before she focused back down on the sickle, carefully connecting the handle to it before she spun it around in her hand and made a quick slashing motion, nodding with satisfaction when she felt the weight in her hand.

 _“How many orders left?”_ Bifur gestured and she twitched her head to the side in thought.

 _“I have a pony to shoe tomorrow up at the Tooks. Why?”_ she gestured back.

 _“Don’t take anymore commissions. We’ll leave after the shoeing,”_ Bifur gestured and she nodded in understanding and looked back down at the sickle, readying it to sharpen now that it was prepped when Bifur cleared his throat, causing her to look back up at him.

 _“Also, your raven has been terrorizing that Sackville-Baggins woman again,”_ Bifur added.

She just shrugged a bit and began to work on cleaning off the sickle before she worked on sharpening it.

He wasn’t her raven, so she didn’t have to worry about it.

* * *

Mannock settled on her shoulder as she trudged up to Farmer Maggot’s farm on the outskirts of the Shire, walking quickly with the bundle in her arm. “Oooh, farm! I like farms. And dogs. The dogs are fun to tease,” Mannock chattered and she rolled her eyes at the raven before she focused forward, the raven taking off as they neared the farm, already heckling the dogs.

The dogs who immediately began barking and snarling at the black bird.

Farmer Maggot immediately trundled out, shouted obscenities at the raven and then smiled at Malin. “Hello Blacksmith,” he greeted and Malin gave a small bow before she turned the sickle over to him.

“So, you’ll be headin’ out with the rest of ‘em then?” he asked as he unwrapped the sickle while Malin nodded.

“Pity. We haven’t had a good blacksmith like you about for a while. We have to wait for when the Tooks have to take their ponies up to Bree for a farrier to get any metal work done. You a farrier?” Maggot stated as he began to swish the sickle through the air.

She gave a nod, not insulted when he tested the sharpness, nodding a bit at that. “You’ll be up to the Tooks then ‘fore ya go?” he inquired and Malin gave a nod again.

Mannock cawed as he swooped down, landing on her shoulder and tugging at her hair, gently, and Maggot muttered an insult at the bird before giving a nod to Malin. “Well, if you ever come back down this way Master Dwarf, be sure to set up shop for a time. You’ll have a few customers, plus some,” he stated and she smiled, turning on her heel as she marched back to the forge.

Tomorrow there would be time enough for shoeing ponies for the Tooks and then it was back home.

A rumble of thunder was her only warning before the skies opened up above and she immediately tugged her hood up to avoid getting too soaked while Mannock huddled down slightly on her shoulder.

As the dirt road became muddy slick under her feet, Malin wondered how spring was in Erebor.

* * *

Glorfindel smiled as he helped Bilbo to stand.

Spending most of the winter bedridden had done little for Bilbo’s muscle mass and, due to the area of the injury, he had also developed some sores, though they were quickly, and efficiently, treated by Lord Elrond, or Glorfindel, or Oin.

Where their arms met, the soft glow of Bilbo’s soul, like spring sun through leaves, swirled out to meet his blinding golden light, intensifying the color of Bilbo’s, giving it a more healthy sheen.

Bilbo frowned down at their shared grip and Glorfindel shifted his head to the side, before he remembered a distant word taught to him by Yavanna. “Sál,” Glorfindel stated and Bilbo immediately perked up.

When he began to speak, Glorfindel shook his head. “I can’t understand,” he stated and Bilbo huffed, even as he took a shaky step forward.

Glorfindel smiled as he continued to support Bilbo, thankful that the Hobbit was recovering quickly. He knew Bilbo would recover even faster once he got outside, but with the spring snows coating the ground, that was out of the question.

Hobbits were not nearly as sturdy as the Dwarves and another fever at this moment would kill the Hobbit this time.

Glorfindel smiled as Bilbo tightened his grip and he didn’t hesitate to help Bilbo sit down on the nearest chair.

The Hobbit was panting, but the smile on his face was from his success of taking eight steps, with assistance, over his five from yesterday.

Separated from Bilbo, yet not disconnected, Glorfindel watched the way their souls curled around each other still, finding a friend somehow through time.

Bilbo reached out and touched where the light was, and makes a curious noise.

Glorfindel shifts his head slightly in thought and thinks.

There is no word for _Balrog_ in the Hobbit’s language. They have no name for something so ensnared in fire and shadow, fallen so far from the Valar that one must throw their whole soul into the act in hopes of destroying it and overcome it, for if you do not fall with them in battle, they will only come back.

So he hesitates before he carefully touches Bilbo’s mind with his telepathy. Bilbo starts, but he understands, showing that the damage is not complete.

Bilbo _can_ relearn Westron and Glorfindel finds himself relieved by this knowledge, this _fact_. _“Balrog. I fell in battle against a Balrog and was sent back.”_

Bilbo seems to frown at this, before he reaches out and touches Glorfindel’s hand with a smile. Glorfindel smiles back and then he holds out his hands again.

Bilbo groans, but he takes Glorfindel’s arms again, gripping just below the elbow and they are going back to the bed.

Bilbo is not as exhausted this time around, but he slips back into sleep easily, despite it all. Glorfindel smiled at that and carefully tucked in Bilbo into his bed and settled back into a chair, wondering where Bilbo’s shadows were.

* * *

Nori sighed softly as Dwalin slammed his fists into his, temporary, desk.

He wondered if Dwalin had finally discovered who knew Malin had left Erebor or not. He looked up at the guard and waited, patiently, for him to either speak or for Balin to appear. “Dwalin, that will not help,” Balin stated and Nori masterfully kept from flinching.

Balin having _entered_ with Dwalin was unexpected.

He should have expected it, for of the two, Balin was far more protective of Malin than Dwalin.

Nori watched Dwalin lean away warily before he focused on Balin. “She’s been gone for the winter, and has not reappeared magically, so she is not close. Where did you send her Nori?” he inquired and Nori doesn’t twitch when Hannock landed on his shoulder.

“Send who?” Nori inquired.

“Malin and you know it,” Dwalin snarled and Balin just gave Nori an unimpressed look.

Nori sighed and pushed some papers around on his desk. “I did not send anyone anywhere, Dwalin. You cannot send people places. You can merely make suggestions or give orders and hope that they are followed,” Nori responded.

“And where did you order Malin, who is not even of age, to go?” Balin asked, one calming hand on Dwalin’s shoulder.

Nori sighed and leaned back slightly, staring at Balin. “There is, was, a letter Bilbo wrote in Laketown. It was an explanation to his gardener, Holeman Greenhand that he would be staying in Erebor for a number of years and to send a confirmation after three years’ time with a Ranger if he hadn’t returned to confirm that he was still within Erebor, in the autumn. Bilbo included a promise to care for the Ranger for the winter as well, something he could have done, even if it was just to pay for the Ranger’s stay in Dale with his share of the treasure, that I am sure Thorin has set aside for him anyway, even though he gave it away to the Men of Dale. I told her it needed to get to him and she, hopefully, succeeded or people are going to declare are Hobbit dead, despite that almost being truth. I felt it was the least we could do, considering that our Burglar was getting ready to die on our slopes instead of even attempting to go home. Now, out of my office. I have an information web to run,” Nori answered with a façade of apathy firmly settled over his face.

Dwalin hissed and snarled, but he left quickly. “If she’s not alive…” Balin threatened.

Nori nodded and they were gone. “Packing up?” Hannock questioned.

“Packing up,” Nori agreed.

(When Dwalin stormed back two hours later, there was no sign Nori had been there at all, except the slightly dented desk that stayed behind. Dwalin wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or upset.)

(He settled for going and tormenting a few guards.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sál is Icelandic for Soul, at least to the best of my knowledge. I only have the tiniest bit of knowledge of it, thanks to my first generation American teacher on her mother’s side, whose mother was Icelandic and who would have say the words. I have decided Hobbitish is Icelandic.
> 
> I have no idea why, probably because Irish Gaelic wasn’t giving me what I wanted. It is also amusing to think of Hobbits having very strong teeth and tongues.


	2. Travel and Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long.
> 
> The plot is basically this...
> 
> "Bilbo can see souls of those who nearly died, something, Malin comes home, something, something, SECRET END OF STORY!!!!"
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> I needed to figure out how to get to SECRET END OF STORY!!!!
> 
> Also, translations at both the beginning and end notes.
> 
> *~*~*~*~*~*~*
> 
> Hvað er að gerast? = What is happening?
> 
> Hvað er að? = What is wrong?

Malin tightened the packs onto the back of the ponies and then looked back over the Shire.

She would have liked to stay here, but there was no reason. Family lay to the East and even the Master Storyteller, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire and Erebor, was there.

But she would miss the feel of the forge around her (a Hobbit from Bree was coming to take it over), and useful farmers' tools that came, and even some finer things. She had spent her time in the Shire and she would miss it almost as much as she would miss her kin if the ache was anything to go off of.

"Sanatkât," Bifur called and Malin nodded, taking up the pony's reins before she tugged the gelding forward, gently, heading towards where the Thain was to see them off.

Her raven sailed down and landed on her shoulder, while the Thain nodded. "You were the best guests I've had in quite some time. Blacksmith, we will be happy to see you if you ever come this way again,” the Thain stated and Malin smiled, giving a polite bow before she stood, Mannock immediately taking off to settle on Bifur’s shoulder.

“We thank you for your hospitality and we hope that the return to Erebor will reopen all old trade routes. May we see you in the future,” Bifur stated.

Without any prompting, Mannock translated it and then took off, landing on Malin’s shoulder, staring to the East.

The Thain smiled and nodded before he stepped to the side and they began to march.

It was time to go home and, hopefully, they would beat the spring rains.

* * *

They did not beat the spring rains.

Within the week, a freezing downpour began to soak them all to the bone and the ponies became even more irritable than ponies normally were.

Malin would have found this all hilarious, except Mannock was even worse than the ponies and was taking this time to torment the Dwarves that were not Bifur.

She was sure the only thing that was keeping Mannock from being turned into food was the fact he was a raven. When he landed on her shoulder when they came to rest, she carefully lifted him off her shoulder, curled over him and dried him off as best she could before she slipped him into her jacket.

Mannock immediately shifted so he could nudged his beak along her jaw line, under her beard, before he shuffled to hide, the rain pouring in sheets around them, hiding them from all but the closest to them.

* * *

Glorfindel smiled as the children crowded around Bilbo on the bed, his weakened state doing nothing to keep them from snuggling up to him, nor allowing his lack of understanding them (or them understanding him) stand in the way of spending time with their favorite person in Erebor.

Glorfindel would be jealous, but he has his own dwarflings clambering on him as well, one of the younger ones who does not know Bilbo personally, but has heard of him from his siblings or cousins, practicing basic braids in Glorfindel’s loose hair, careful of the braids already there and hidden.

In some ways, Glorfindel can be _quite_ secretive, putting even Hobbits to shame.

But even as he watched them all absorb in Bilbo’s presence, and he theirs, Glorfindel couldn’t help but wonder what would happen now.

Lord Elrond was preparing to leave with his sons, the expectation that Glorfindel would go with them in place due to the fact Bilbo’s ability to learn new languages hadn’t been destroyed and there was nothing they could do to speed up Bilbo’s ability to relearn all of those languages.

But how long would it take?

Yavanna had hesitated to teach Glorfindel even the _simplest_ of words, finally settling on teaching him words he would have to use, such as soul, because there was something more to them.

It was only after Glorfindel had heard Entish did he understand.

These words held power, more than normal words.

When he had seen the Hobbits’ Shire, and felt the rumbling _rage_ of the Old Forest, as they called it, he understood what _kind_ of power and was thankful that the Hobbits were Hobbits, with no desire for riches or gain beyond what could be found within themselves.

Unleashing them upon the world would be devastating and would rend the world apart before Morgoth ever broke free of his prison.

He was yanked from his thoughts by a rumbling sound that shook through the whole mountain and all the children immediately zeroed in on the doorway, the younger children trembling while Bilbo stared, one hand resting against the back of a little girl’s head.

"Hvað er að gerast?” Bilbo questioned, only to be met with silence as the group became stiller with the rising of shouts.

Khuzdul filled the air and Glorfindel felt dread curl up his spine like a constricting snake. Something had just gone horribly wrong and he carefully extracted children’s fingers from his hair before he settled them next to Bilbo, the Hobbit automatically reacting to the children.

He hummed soothingly and Glorfindel, were this any situation, would have smiled over the Dwarven children immediately turning to him, clutching to him.

It was automatic and instinctual, leaving Glorfindel to wonder if Hobbit and Dwarves were meant to always be together. As if Hobbits had something that completed Dwarves, like Yavanna had something that completed Aule.

And then he heard the war cry of the Dwarves.

Glorfindel’s eyes sharpened and he shifted to stand by the door, though at a perfectly defensible position as more shouts echoed through the air.

War cries, more of them.

Answering cries called back.

“Hvað er að?” Bilbo questioned quietly, but Glorfindel waved at him, even as he drew a knife, Gondolin in make.

He evened his breathing, tensing when footsteps rushed past, and he flipped the blade around, loosening his muscles only slightly at the retreat.

Retreating footsteps meant nothing in the long term and he heard the crashing of metal, which was only accented by the children whimpering and Bilbo’s renewed efforts to calm them.

“Glorfindel, hvað er að?” Bilbo whispered.

Glorfindel didn’t have a chance to answer as the door began to open on silent hinges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hvað er að gerast? = What is happening?
> 
> Hvað er að? = What is wrong?


	3. Duel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the two months minus two days wait for the next chapter.

It has been some tme since Glorfindel had dueled against a Dwarf.

But not so long that he has forgotten and he does not hesitate to move, drawing his secondary dagger. His swords aren't with him and, sadly, would cause more problems. The difficulties with getting in close with those shorter than himself, however, kept cropping up, such as when the Dwarf he was fighting (and who was snarling some very derogatory and rude things to him in Khuzdul) kept trying to knock him flat on his back.

As Glorfindel batted the Dwarf's axe away from himself he turned, putting his back to the open door, his ear twitching slightly when he heard movement in the corridor. This time, when the Dwarf moved to knock him over by hooking around his knee and pulling, Glorfindel fell. He fell, in complete control and used it to move his position so that he was completely pressed against the Dwarf’s chest, while also being in the perfect position to send the Dwarf flying over his shoulder and into the hallway.

He stood after the throw, moving like a lightning strike as he quickly disabled the Dwarf, stealing the Dwarf’s axe to use it against any approaching enemies as he retreated to the doorway. Heading inside would just put the children, and Bilbo, at risk, and he couldn’t afford that.

With a muttered curse in Queyna, he didn’t hesitate to move once more as another Dwarf attacked him.

It seemed not all were happy with the King Under the Mountain.

Glorfindel didn’t hesitate as he knocked a Dwarf back and over, not wanting to kill anyone.

Yet.

He was quickly losing patience, however, as it was obviously an attempted coup. A very _badly_ _planned_ attempted coup, but an attempted coup all the same.

“Be back in a moment!” Glorfindel stated before he shut Bilbo’s door firmly and took a deep breath.

And Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower of the fallen Gondolin, Balrog Slayer, met his foes.

* * *

Dwalin stared at the fallen Dwarves who had come up to the healers’ wing. Some were just heavily injured, while still others lay dead, and sitting in front of Bilbo’s door was a blood splattered, blond, Elf.

“Sorry about the mess, but they didn’t just run off after I killed the first two,” he greeted idly as he cleaned off his knife blade.

At his feet, a Dwarven axe was already cleaned up. “Didn’t think any got this far,” Dwalin muttered.

“I think they came up a back way. That, or you’ll find dead guards,” Glorfindel responded idly as he put the knife away.

He twisted when a knock came from the inside of the door. “Yes my little ingot?” he called.

“Safe?” came a child’s voice.

“Quite,” Glorfindel answered and the door opened to reveal Bofur’s niece standing behind a tiny little boy.

“Good. Master Storyteller’s really panicking,” Bofur’s niece stated and dragged the little one back.

Glorfindel hummed and stood up. “Well, we shall have to continue this discussion later, Master Dwalin. I have a patient to attend to,” Glorfindel stated as he stood and then ducked into Bilbo’s room, the door shutting behind him.

Dwalin just nodded and turned to the cleanup.

They only found one Dwarf that had snuck up to the Healers’ Wing to kill any known supporters of Thorin while at their weakest (the dirty, low-down, dirt crawling _wyrms_ ), and he was unable to answer them for a time.

All they could get out of him was mutterings of ‘fury’ and ‘stone eyes’, but nothing else for a time before he managed to explain the plan they had.

While he would be executed for treason, Dwalin could see where Thorin was tempted to just shave his beard and let him go.

“I wonder who he meant,” Nori mused from his protected spot on the other side of Dori.

“Bout what?” Bofur asked.

“Stone eyes. It is slang for someone who fights in battle with everything, yet at the same time showing nothing. They are the stone they are carved from, turning their very soul against themselves to fuel their fight. Essentially, not someone you want to back into a corner, because you will die, even if they have to die to bring you down,” Nori explained and stared up at the ceiling.

“Just don’t know anyone who fits it,” he mused.

Dwalin said nothing, but wondered what had sent the Elf in front of the door into such a spree.

* * *

“Rest your mind, Glorfindel, and find peace,” Bilbo murmured soothingly as he ran his fingers through Glorfindel’s hair, carefully.

Occasionally, his fingers would brush hidden braids, and so Bilbo avoided them. He was gentle and calming, the vivid green curling and trying to sink through the bright golden light that was Glorfindel’s soul.

Trying to comfort.

It seemed to be working and Bilbo smiled softly before he began to sing quietly, knowing Glorfindel couldn’t understand his words, but he could understand Bilbo’s tone.

He didn’t need to know it was the song of Bullroarer Took and how he fought the Goblins to save his kin, even though he remained forever changed.

It was a soothing tune all the same, for all that it was too much like them now.

And Bilbo wondered what other changes they would face in this mountain so far from home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what was going on in this chapter.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	4. Law, Treason, and a Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Public Beheading

Thorin stood at his place above the execution block where the one Dwarf left alive from the attack waited. "Tamir, son of Mamir, for your treasonous actions, you are to be beheaded before all of Erebor and have your body buried away from your head outside of the mountain in the Graveyard of Traitors. Do you have any last words?" Thorin demanded.

"Is it not more treasonous, your Majesty, to house a traitor who stole the artifact of the Line of Durin and allow our children to visit him?" Tamir asked and Thorin glared down.

"He has paid for his crimes, for he did not know the value of the Arkenstone when he used it as a bartering chip to insure that we would live through the Battle of Five Armies," Thorin answered and the ax held by the executioner fell, separating the traitor's head from his body with one strike.

As Tamir’s head hit the ground, an arrow sunk into Thorin's chest.

The population of Erebor that was witnessing the execution immediately broke out in turmoil as Dwalin worked on hauling Thorin out of the room.

* * *

“I’m fine!” Thorin snapped as Óin tried to keep him in bed.

“You were just shot with an arrow that came dangerously close to your heart!” Óin returned and Thorin pushed Óin away, ignoring how it made his arrow wound twinge.

“Did you find anyone?” Thorin demanded as Nori slipped in.

“No. But I think they will be quite furious that they missed though. That was meant to kill you,” Nori stated.

“And the Hobbit?” Thorin asked.

“If we could separate his golden guard dog in Elf’s skin from him, I would be worried. As we can’t, and he can hear _me_ when I move to sneak up on him, I would say that is not something we should have to worry about,” Nori responded with a shrug.

“But the fact someone just tried to assassinate the King of Erebor _is_ ,” Dwalin said, even as Nori shook his head.

“Oh? If not an assassination, what?” Dwalin demanded.

“An execution. Thorin was put on trial without him there, and they decided death by arrow. And they missed. In the laws of Erebor, that means that Mahal has forgiven Thorin for his crime, but they won’t take it that way,” Nori stated and they stared at Nori, who grinned.

“I am very well acquainted with the death by arrow laws,” Nori explained, unrepentant when Dwalin glowered at him.

“So, they’ll try again?” Thorin asked.

“They’ll try till they can shoot you by arrow. Within the execution chamber, it does change it, by ancient _Dwarvish_ law, not just Erebor. They’ll do this kind of attack again, maybe involve Men to drag Bard up here, execute _him_ for handling the Arkenstone,” Nori explained.

“And Bilbo?” Thorin asked, even as he tried to get Óin to leave him alone once more.

“Each attempt will be focused on Bilbo’s room, in hopes they can kill him. There is no way he’ll ever go to the Execution Hall. He won’t like seeing it and he won’t go there of his own free will,” Nori explained.

“Assassination in that respect. If they succeed, we can execute them for that,” Nori stated.

“But he’ll be dead,” Thorin answered and Nori gave a nod in agreement.

“Which won’t solve our problem so much as make more,” Nori murmured.

Dwalin raised an eyebrow and Nori grinned. “We have a Wizard that’s still very attached to our little Burglar,” he explained and Dwalin grumbled while Thorin scowled.

“Has the raven returned?” Thorin responded and Dwalin shook his head.

None of the occupants of the room were expecting the door to open to reveal Balin, who looked a little wrung out. “Gandalf is here. And he is not pleased,” Balin panted out and Thorin covered his face with his hand while Nori let out a low whistle, uncaring of the way those not concerned with bemoaning their fate made the sign of Mahal over their chests.

“When it rains, it pours,” Nori mused and ignored the odd looks the saying got him, but he didn’t bother to translate.

The Dwarven equivalent was stupid and Nori refused to say it. “Best talk to him _now_ , your Majesty, before he decides to just blast his way here,” Nori stated and ignored the glares it got him as he disappeared out of the room, heading up to his hidden office.

He needed to find out how close Malin was to the Mountain and maybe send out an extra underling or five to help find out who was plotting the assassination of Bilbo and the “execution” of Thorin.

Because this was starting to _really_ irritate him.


	5. Quiet Salvation and Quiet Guilt

"What?" Elrond questioned and Glorfindel sighed, looking away from the Elf Lord.

Elrond was one of those that would have held a desirable position in Gondolin, had he lived in that hidden city. He would have been well suited for the practically glowing walls and curling steeples, but even with this thought, Glorfindel couldn't imagine Elrond being anywhere but in Rivendell. It had been odd, during the winter that they had kept Bilbo alive, to see Elrond amongst stone. Elrond had been so off-kilter, more out of place than any of the other Elves, and Glorfindel gave a weak smile as he turned his gaze from the stone wall to where Elrond stood. "I will not be returning to Rivendell with you, Elrond. I am needed here," Glorfindel responded.

“Bilbo is healing. He will be well as soon as they can teach him Westron once more. He lost no memories, he lost nothing that cannot be regained…” Elrond protested, if it could be called that, under Glorfindel’s watchful gaze.

“He almost lost something, didn’t he?” Elrond asked.

“Yes,” Glorfindel answered, seeing the tiny peeks of silver that were Elrond’s soul.

It was a bit like staring at flecks of starlight that were blended with moonlight. Glorfindel sometimes wished he could tuck those tiny slivers back inside Elrond, but that wouldn’t happen till he was reunited with Celebrían in the West. “I will return, someday. Most likely someday soon, a year at the soonest, a decade at the latest,” Glorfindel responded with an idle shrug of the shoulders and Elrond laughed.

“A decade at the latest? Are you sure you would not be happier waiting a century?” Elrond questioned lightly, though his eyes were sad.

“No, I would not. A year or ten, Lord Elrond, and most likely no in-between,” Glorfindel answered gently.

Elrond let out a long sigh and looked up at him. “Do you have permission to stay from the King?” the Lord of Imaldris questioned.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll get it. Once I actually talk to King Thorin,” Glorfindel answered.

Elrond chuckled and Glorfindel was pulled into a tight hug. It only took a few moments before Glorfindel hugged him just as tightly back. “Imaldris will be fine without me for a time. Not to mention the fact that Erestor, especially, will be relieved with my absence, I am sure,” Glorfindel answered.

“If you truly think that, you are blind, my friend,” Elrond answered as they parted and Glorfindel ducked his head slightly, more like an unruly child than an accomplished Head of the Guard.

“Well, I better…” Glorfindel began, only to pause when he focused elsewhere.

“What’s wrong?” Elrond asked.

“I have to go. Tell the boys I’ll speak to them if they’ll stop by Bilbo’s rooms to speak with me. I have to get back to him,” Glorfindel answered and he quickly walked away.

Elrond watched as the blond Elf walked away, smiling sadly at his back. “May you find what you are looking for here, my friend,” Elrond murmured and turned back to his gifted rooms.

He hoped whatever business had drawn Gandalf south would allow him to join them soon, at least before they left. “Elladan and Elrohir will be so disappointed,” Elrond murmured gently as he returned his focus on packing.

* * *

Thorin grumbled as he felt Óin tighten the bandage, twitching with barely concealed annoyance as Gandalf strode into his chambers, ignoring how both his nephews (a pleasant surprise, as Kíli was still upset with him) trying to stop the Wizard, and he eyed Thorin. “I see I have returned just in time,” Gandalf stated and Thorin bit back his first reply in an attempt to be diplomatic.

It was his lack of diplomacy that had ended up with Bilbo losing his ability to communicate with those around him. It was his fault that this had gotten so far off track. It was the Men and Elves faults as well, as it was something Thorin would always remember, but he would not nurse it within his heart this time.

He would see and he would remember, but he would not feed it as time went on. He would let it rest within his own soul and he would fight any attempts to forgive them.

But had that very thing been what had gotten them almost all killed, what had very nearly killed Bilbo? He resisted the urge to sigh and glared at Gandalf, even as he gritted his teeth against the pain when he felt Óin shift the bandage. “I’m afraid I’m a bit indisposed at the moment, Gandalf. Someone tried to have me executed. Balin, would you please show Gandalf to Bilbo’s room? I am sure he would like to see that the Hobbit is all right,” Thorin stated as he tried to push the goblet of pain tonic away from him.

Gandalf, who looked torn between anger and leaving, focused entirely on Thorin. “You are right, I do desire to see Bilbo. I was detained by business and had to leave, but I hope that Lord Elrond and his company were allowed to enter the Mountain,” Gandalf stated.

“One Elf, I am sure, will have to be pried off with an iron bar to part him from Bilbo. Good day Gandalf,” Thorin answered and glowered at Óin as a pain tonic was shoved into his hand.

“Drink that and then you’ll be rid of us,” Óin stated, even as Balin showed Gandalf out.

Thorin downed the pain tonic, ignoring the twinge that came from his injury, and lay back, even as the Company trailed out, until only Fíli and Kíli remained. “I’m glad you are all right Uncle,” Fíli stated.

Thorin smiled, about to reply, when all the air was driven out of his lungs by Kíli plowing into his chest. It hurt, distantly, but he hugged Kíli back. He felt Kíli’s shoulders shaking under his arms. “I’m here, I’m safe,” Thorin murmured gently and Kíli clutched at him all the tighter.

Fíli joined soon after and, while it felt good to be hugged and forgiven by his nephews, the aggravation of his arrow wound was enough to remind him that they wouldn’t be here at all if it hadn't been for his Company ignoring his foolish pride.

* * *

Glorfindel twitched slightly when he felt one of the Dwarf children tug at his hair, causing him to open his eyes from where he had been resting on the floor at the foot of Bilbo’s bed and he chuckled, even as he eased the small child’s fingers from the death grip. “Braid,” the Dwarf child, Sannil, whined softly, as if that was all the protest that was needed.

“Yes, a braid. Be careful with it, as it is a very old braid,” Glorfindel explained and he soon found a few other children crowding around him to stare at the braids little Sannil had unveiled.

In the background, Glorfindel could hear Bilbo chuckling, so Glorfindel sat through the poking. “This is a Dwarf-friend braid,” one of the older children, Kamli or Kamri or Kam…something, stated.

There were a great deal of children that visited Bilbo, most of whom were not directly related to the Company, instead appearing thanks to Mita, who was happy to help them in to visit Master Storyteller, even though no one could understand him.

“It is,” Glorfindel confirmed and there were soft gasps.

“How did you get it?” one of the four girls, probably Hildi, questioned.

“I made a friend, two actually, who were Dwarves. One didn’t look much like a Dwarf, but he was one no matter what his appearance would seem to dictate, and the other was very much a Dwarf. A very powerful and well-respected one, in fact. I wasn’t allowed to learn the Sacred Language, of course, but I felt honored to be called Friend. Be carefully of that bead, dear one, that’s a first craft,” Glorfindel answered and there were sounds of awe at that, which had Glorfindel smiling, especially when he felt Mita (he knew her hands better than most of the children’s) pulling up more of his hair to reveal more braids.

“I see the children have discovered your braids, Master Glorfindel,” Gandalf greeted and the children squealed, rushing away, once they carefully untangled their hands from Glorfindel’s hair, to hide, while Bilbo let out a happy exclamation.

“Gandalf,” Glorfindel greeted, smiling up at the Wizard, even as Balin eyed Glorfindel with an odd look, as if he was reevaluating the Elf sitting on the floor before him.

Oh, Yavanna bless it.

He had been hoping to keep those braids a secret for a while longer yet from the adults. He let out a long sigh and settled more comfortably against the bed, even as Bilbo began to speak in the Green Tongue of Yavanna, a part of Glorfindel unsettled by the reveal of such a large secret settling down.

He could deal with the trouble tomorrow. Today was for today.


	6. Spinning and Riding

Glorfindel hummed as he twirled his drop spindle, watching as the carded wool became yarn. Fine, tight, yarn, and he sighed softly. “Should’ve brought my heavier drop spindle,” he muttered as he made sure to wind it around the spindle and twirled it again, carefully pulling up on the wool, watching the fibers become yarn.

Really tight yarn.

He resisted the urge to snarl at himself, and instead just focused on making the yarn, the long practiced movements soothing, relaxing. He glanced up when he heard the door open, noting it was the deceptively strong tea-maker, and focused back on the yarn.

“Master Glorfindel, is your room not to your liking?” Dori questioned and Glorfindel glanced up, quickly, before he looked back down.

“It is. But it has the unfortunate placing of being nowhere near Bilbo,” Glorfindel answered simply as he wound the newly spun yarn around the spindle and continued.

“Does Thorin know you are here?” Dori inquired.

“Within Erebor, yes. Within this room? No,” Glorfindel answered simply as he continued to spin.

He would have to sell this or something once he was done. Not that this yarn was _useful_ or anything of the like. A thicker, heavier, yarn would at least be able to be used for blankets. This thin stuff might be good for thread instead. No, too thick. Lovely, it was just thin yarn. Maybe if someone wanted a pair of glo-…

“How are you getting it so fine?” Dori inquired as he stepped over to him and Glorfindel just sighed.

“Unfortunately, centuries of practice. When I was small, I couldn’t keep still, so my mother taught me. After all these years, I can make the thread quite fine, but…well, the only way I can make thick enough to be _useful_ yarn is a heavier drop spindle, which I forgot. And I don’t use a spinning wheel. I can’t…it isn’t what I was raised on,” Glorfindel answered as he continued to spin.

“How much wool do you have?” Dori inquired.

“I packed wool instead of a bedroll, if that helps,” he responded and Dori gave a sound of confirmation.

“I was wondering…what colors do you have?” Dori asked.

“Just white and black. More black than white,” Glorfindel answered and Dori huffed.

“Too bad. I was hoping you could make me some lavender yarn,” Dori mused.

“You could dye the wool, if you had access to the dyes. Maybe if you asked…oh, no, you couldn’t ask Bilbo for some flower dyes. Oh well,” Glorfindel answered, even as he continued to spin.

He paused as he pinched the remaining fluff of wool and reached into the bag by his chair, pulling out a pre-torn part to carefully place against the lead. A spin of the drop spindle, like a top, and he continued to spin. “Master Glorfindel, are you sure wouldn’t be happier in your rooms?” Dori inquired and Glorfindel nodded.

“I am sure,” Glorfindel promised as he continued to spin, the white yarn cutting through the darkness.

* * *

"You have Dwarven braids Master Glorfindel?" Balin inquired as Glorfindel helped Bilbo go through his exercises.

It was two weeks and three days after Balin had discovered the braids. In that time, Glorfindel had spun two full balls of white yarn and was starting on black just for a change of color. Glorfindel was surprised he held out as long as Balin had, part of the reason he had started spinning with a vengeance when he passed the three day mark.

“Yes, I do,” Glorfindel answered as he helped Bilbo sit back, frowning at how much Bilbo was trembling.

He shouldn’t be so tired yet and he smiled at the Hobbit, who smiled back. “Where did you get them?” Balin inquired lightly as Glorfindel wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s lower back to help him stand.

“Oh, long ago and far away,” Glorfindel answered as he frowned down at the Hobbit.

He sighed and slowly lifted shifted so he could support Bilbo’s weight, the Hobbit trembling lightly, even though he had yesterday as a low day of exercise. “Sól?” Glorfindel questioned hesitantly and Bilbo brightened at the suggestion.

“Sól,” Bilbo responded and Glorfindel shifted his grip until he could pick the Hobbit up.

Bilbo let out a sound of protest, though he held on and Glorfindel smiled. “Asfaloth is in need of a good stretch of the legs anyway,” he stated and walked past Balin, more than happy to walk away from this conversation.

His braids were his own and if he didn’t wish to share their origin, he wouldn’t.

* * *

Glorfindel ignored the Dwarves as he tacked Asfaloth up, checking over the saddle and bitless bridle as he did so. Years of having to prepare to move in a heartbeat insured that Asfaloth was ready to go within minutes. Once reassured that Asfaloth was settled and happy with his tack, Glorfindel carefully lifted Bilbo up onto the stallion’s back and mounted up behind the Hobbit.

Bilbo was gripping Asfaloth’s mane, and Glorfindel was gentle as he eased an arm around Bilbo’s waist before he shifted. “Noro lim Asfaloth,” Glorfindel ordered and the stallion snorted before he obeyed, trotting smoothly out of the rock stable.

The moment his hooves touched dirt, however, he took off with a squeal. Bilbo’s hands flew forward to clutch Asfalroth’s mane, even as Glorfindel shifted his grip around Bilbo’s waist to keep him comfortable.

No one had fallen from Asfaloth’s back when they were invited up and Glorfindel would hardly allow his new Hobbit friend to be the first.

As they galloped much too quickly across the plain between the foot of Erebor and ruins of Dale, Glorfindel couldn’t help but let out a whoop of joy. Asfaloth answered by picking up speed and Bilbo let out a laugh, even as his fingers wove themselves into Asfaloth’s mane. Glorfindel leaned over Bilbo’s shoulder and Asfaloth stretched out as they hit the flat plains filled with the new growth of spring, despite the destruction that had been wrought the past winter.

* * *

Glorfindel chuckled as he watched Bilbo stretch up towards the sun, sitting on the blanket. “Vorið er hér,” Bilbo murmured as Glorfindel let Asfaloth run free of saddle and bridle.

“Vorið er hér,” Glorfindel agreed, though he wasn't sure what he was agreeing to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sól = Sun
> 
> Vor er hér = Spring is here


End file.
